


A Rare Gift, Burgled

by stephanieh



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, Pining, thorin could write for simon and garfunkel at this rate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanieh/pseuds/stephanieh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin doesn't just think Bilbo has the biggest, slate-grey eyes or perfect honey curls- though that might be part of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rare Gift, Burgled

"Incineration?" the Hobbit nearly annunciated carefully, craning his neck as if to underline his incredulity at even the allusion to a fiery end.

Amidst his worry about Gandalf coercing this poor fellow into joining his most likely doomed company, Thorin couldn't help but notice the beauty of their Hobbit host. He wasn't attractive in the typical way that one might expect- it was more charming than that. It was in the way he moved. Watching him do something as simple as walk was like a dialogue in itself- it told you everything you needed to know about his state of mind. And then, just when you thought you knew his mood, his tongue cut in with ironic courtesy, making one wonder if they ever really knew how he was feeling at all. 

Or, maybe it was his home which made him beautiful, the walls of which he could've sprang into life from directly from for all the similarities between them. He was soft, like it's shape, earthy like it's light. Despite his size, the Hobbit seemed to fill the (surprisingly) spacious hole with energy. If he were to leave it, Thorin felt sure his home would wither as if from rot. 

The Hobbit's hair was disheveled as if from the wind, his clothing rich but worn from a thousand days spent in the sun, his ears, suspiciously elf-like, a gracefully curved counterpoint to his pliant face. He was a flower, the light of day, a river of change- so foreign to anything a dwarf should think of as beautiful.

And he had fainted. Thorin felt his expression turn sour as he glanced at Gandalf meaningfully. He was determined to let the Hobbit recover himself, instead of rushing over as instinct had demanded. The Hobbit would need to learn to recover from self-inflicted pain on his own if he ever hoped to recover from the wounds he was likely to receive from others on their quest. If he was coming.

Offering a conciliatory glance, eyebrows raised, Gandalf went to the Hobbit's side, incanting a few mumbled phrases over the Hobbit's upended form.

As the Hobbit regained consciousness- brushing away Gandalf's concern with as much lucidity as he could muster, considering- Thorin stomped deeper into the house, thoughts like a storm.

Here was a creature so fragile that he fainted at the mere mention of possible incineration, who Gandalf had become determined to sling on Thorin for a year long journey through dangerous lands, to a dangerous end. Agreements of responsibility aside, it was his duty to protect members of his company whenever possible. This Hobbit had a home, a life, and a fragile beauty which hung in the balance. A wonder which Thorin would be forced to rob him of regardless of his fate on the quest, like some sort of burglar himself. 

When the Hobbit declared his intention to stay behind, Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. One less precious life hanging in the balance on account of honor and a long lost home.

**Author's Note:**

> http://earlgreyhaught.tumblr.com/


End file.
